


To: Unknown

by sigmaa



Category: Fleabag (TV)
Genre: AU, Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - You've Got Mail Fusion, F/M, Social Media AU
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-08-28
Updated: 2019-08-28
Packaged: 2020-09-28 17:03:37
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,426
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20429411
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sigmaa/pseuds/sigmaa
Summary: 'So maybe she was lonely. Everyone got lonely. It was totally normal. But a part of Fleabag quietly thought that loneliness didn’t really excuse her slowly burgeoning obsession with a person she’d never actually met.'AU in which Fleabag and the Priest accidentally start anonymously texting before (and after) they meet in real life.Sort of inspired by You've Got Mail, sort of inspired by the Number Neighbour meme on twitter.





	To: Unknown

So _maybe_ she was lonely. Everyone got lonely. It was totally normal. But a part of Fleabag quietly thought that loneliness didn’t really excuse her slowly burgeoning obsession with a person she’d never actually met.

In fairness, she hadn’t spoken to her sister for over a year now, and it was more unsettling than she would have expected. Claire had cancelled on the last three feminist lectures (including a really good one on body image which had been a prime source for topping up her feminist guilt and self-loathing), and Fleabag was beginning to be able to admit that she was missing her. In a subsequent bid for personal improvement, Fleabag had started working out more (cathartic, in that it had all of the shame and yelling associated with an afternoon with Claire, only with the added benefit of making her legs look _great_) and had sworn off _all _sexual encounters – extremely handsome cheaters included – which, whilst probably good for the soul, didn’t really help with the whole _Oh-God-I’m-So-Alone-I’m-Going-To-Die-Alone_ thing she’d had going on recently. Seeing Harry at the Sexhibition – the real Harry, not his uncomfortably smooth eunuch statue – hadn’t helped either; though he’d taken his dinosaur, which she had conceded meant that their latest break up had been their most serious yet, a small part of her had still believed that he come back and restart the comforting cycle of borderline abuse they’d entrenched themselves in. But… he hadn’t. He had a new girlfriend and seemed much happier (although, what kind of name is _Elaine_). And so, she was alone.

Fleabag had been ignoring – and quite successfully – how bad it was getting until her birthday, when, half-buzzed and alone at 3am, she came across some sort of challenge on Twitter. She hadn’t considered actually doing it herself, not at first. It seemed like something Claire would call juvenile and she was trying to be a Proper Grown Up now, but then the fact that she was celebrating her 34th year by being drunk, depressed _and_ alone (and a touch of good old morbid curiosity) eventually pushed her over the edge. She reached for her phone.

***

**[From: Unknown]**

**03:04** _Hello! I’m your number neighbour!_

**03:04** _your number is the same mine, except different_

**03:04** _at the end. It’s different at the end_

The texts came out of nowhere on a frankly miserable night, when the Priest was feeling sad, and alone, and on the verge of pouring another G&T. A can would be easier, premixed and therefore less annoying (less time spent on measuring, no time spent hunting for tonic), but he’d left them in the church for ‘emergencies’, and couldn’t be bothered leaving the warmth of his bedroom to retrieve one. Drinking alone was a bit depressing, he would willingly admit it. It was an old habit, left over from his old life, but he’d found it difficult to make any real friends since moving to the new parish. With a flock mainly made up of families, old ladies and, notably, a terrifying middle-aged artist who stared at his clerical collar a bit too hungrily, there was little opportunity to find someone to get pissed with, so – back to drinking alone. The first two messages, he ignored. The number wasn’t saved (not that it seemed like anyone he knew), he was already suitably waved, and had more than enough company in the form of Jesus looking down on him from a portrait with a disapproving eye, but as he reached again for the bottle two more new messages caught his eye:

**[From: Unknown]**

**03:05** _oh SHIT it’s like 3 AM, sorry!_

**03:07** _hope I didn’t wake you I’m drunk sorry_

The corner of his mouth lifted. A kindred spirit. He was a jovial drunk when necessary, and if he didn’t have any real friends then anonymous drunk texting was something he could get on board with. Peering hazily at his keyboard, he tapped out a quick reply.

**[To: Unknown]**

Me too ! **03:08**

I dunno what ur talkin about tho **03:08**

The. number whatever **03:08**

He set his phone down to return to the all-important business of mixing another drink, and within a few minutes his phone buzzed again.

**[From: Unknown]**

**03:10 ** _oh thank god_

**03:10** _Angry phone call averted_

**03:10 ** _You’re my number neighbour!_

**03:10 ** _Our numbers are the same except the last digit_

**03:11 ** _I saw it on Twitter _

** [To: Unknown]**

on Twitter? **03:12**

wait how old r u?? **03:12**

**[From: Unknown]**

**03:12** _Never ask a lady her age!!_

**03:12** _Lol kidding fuck that_

**03:12** _My godmother (bitch) always says shit like that so like, you can ignore that, but to me it’s funny_

**03:13** _I’m 34_

**03:13** _Today. it’s my birthday!_

His mysterious texter was a woman then, it seemed. He wondered briefly why anyone would choose to drunk text an anonymous stranger on their birthday, but as a lonely, semi-alcoholic priest with alcoholic parents, he decided it wasn’t his place to ask.

**[To: Unknown]**

!!! Happy birthday!! I love birthdays!!! 🎉🎉🥳** 03:14**

sorry ab t ur godmother?? **03:14**

**[From: Unknown]**

**03:14** _Oh god please do Not with the emojis_

**03:14 ** _And don’t worry I;m sure it’s clinical_

**03:15** _wait, you’re not like a creepy student or something are you?_

**03:15** _Don’t make me feel old you’re not allowed it’s my birthday_

**[To: Unknown]**

wtf **03:14**

u texted me first **03:14**

if anyone’s creepy it’s u **03:14**

The Priest was notoriously terrible with technology and social media in all its forms. As the Church was hardly looking to modernise, and Pam was the only person he regularly interacted with on a personal basis, it hadn’t really been a problem. The one thing he did understand, however, was emojis. Desperately sad, he presumed, but he was an expressive talker and liked the way they made his texts exponentially jauntier. He didn’t really understand how Twitter had brought this person to him, but he would not stand by and listen to her slander.

**[To: Unknown]**

and how dare u!! there’s nothing wrong with emojis!!! **03:14**

😠 😠 😠 **03:14**

…and no, im not a student **03:15**

** [From: Unknown]**

**03:15 ** _Emojis are all that is wrong with the world._

**03:15 ** _To use an emoji should be a sin_

**[To: Unknown]**

u r wrong and also blasphemous **03:15**

He would know.

**[To: Unknown]**

i cannot believe u have texted me from out of nowhere simply to insult such harbingers of joy **03:15**

i realise this does not help ur impression of my age **03:16**

im 34 too **03:16**

its not my birthday tho **03:16**

**[From: Unknown]**

**03:17** _Shame. We could’ve done shots :(_

**03:17** _Although if I’m not sure I could admit to being friends with an emoji lover in real life_

**[To: Unknown]**

were friends now?? **03:17**

**[From: Unknown]**

**03:18** _You’re the only person to have wished me a happy birthday so I think you’ve reached my new very low and depressing standards_

** [To: Unknown]**

oh **03:18**

okay **03:18**

friends then **03:18**

😊 **03:19**

**[From: Unknown]**

**03:19** _Ffs._

**03:19 ** _I refuse to talk to you any longer_

**03:19** _Good night_

**[To: Unknown]**

night **03:19**

He sipped his drink, savouring the bitter tang of the gin before swallowing down the dregs. It was certainly unusual, one might say miraculous, to have been randomly accosted via text by someone even lonelier than him, but in all honesty he’d enjoyed it. He doubted that they’d talk again, despite her claim that they were friends now, and was filled with the urge to rectify that, even if it was for just a few minutes more. Before the sober part of his mind could catch up and stop him from acting, he unlocked his phone again.

**[To: Unknown]**

wait i just realised **03:33**

we never told each other our names **03:33**

**[From: Unknown]**

**03:34** _Ooh_

**03:34** _What if we didn’t?_

**[To: Unknown]**

?? **03:34**

**[From: Unknown]**

**03:34** _Kept it anonymous_

**03:34** _It’s sexy_

**03:34** _Like You’ve Got Mail_

**[To: Unknown]**

a famously sexy film **03:35**

lol **03:35**

what should I save ur contact as then? **03:35**

shopgirl is cheating btw **03:36**

**[From: Unknown]**

**03:36** _Let me think about it_

**03:38** _Okay, got it_

**03:38** _Fleabag._

**[To: Fleabag]**

Sexy **03:40**

**Author's Note:**

> I'm not sure how the Priest could both be technologically impaired and text like an absolute maniac but, in my heart, I know both of these things to be true.
> 
> I'm pretty notorious (in my own head) for never finishing a fic but I hope this is the one that changes that. As the story progresses, I'll be including their canon interactions (and probs missing scenes) too, so if you're not like a superfan of text-fics it should balance out fairly quickly after they meet irl. I've tried to make it as clear as possible who's texting who (and when), but let me know if it's confusing/how I can make it less so.
> 
> Enjoy!


End file.
